


Deputy Mommy

by oyhumbug



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Flash Fic, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her days are filled with work, and her nights consumed by three heroes masquerading as men. After more than two years of this routine, Felicity is used to this life. Content with it. But then she's presented with a proposal that would allow her to serve Starling City not only in secret but also out in the open, and the proposal throws her entire world into a tailspin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FF#12: Deputy Mommy - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story before S3 began, and I do not read spoilers. Anything that mirrors what has happened on the show is intentional, while anything that predicts what might happen is unintentional. This isn't my idea of what S3 will be; it's just something that I thought would be fun to write/read. It is complete, it finishes up with the hiatus flash fic prompts, and I will be posting regularly – probably once a week. I know that I have a ficlet and a one shot series to complete, and those are on my radar, but I wanted to wrap up these prompts first. Plus, I'm still very much interested in Jax and Tara (Sons of Anarchy) and will continue to write for them as well. Anyway, I think that's all I need to share in this update. Thanks for reading and enjoy!
> 
> ~Charlynn~

**FF#12: Deputy Mommy**

**Part One  
  
Flash Fic Prompt #12: Whatever It Takes**

As Felicity slid into the booth across from Oliver, she smiled. She couldn't help it. Even though it was still awkward between them, even though she had no idea why they were there and where everyone else was, it had been _so_ long, and it just felt _too_ normal not to grin. “We haven't been here since Digg tried to date Carly, and it didn't work out.” Eyes going wide with realization, she cursed her inability to think first before speaking. For a girl who could mentally work out ten different contingency tech plans in a matter of seconds, when it came to communicating, especially with Oliver, she possessed absolutely no foresight. “Please don't tell me this means I can never eat Italian again, because, if so, I'm just going to stop dating now. I love food too much to sacrifice it on the off chance of joint tax returns and his and her closets.”  
  
“And here I thought your generation dated in order to have sex.”  
  
Felicity briefly broke eye contact with Oliver to flick her gaze over towards the new arrival, over towards the person who had just spoken. “No. That's separate. In fact, it's been my recent experience that dating doesn't even include kissing.” Because that was saved for breaking up.  
  
“Yes, well, perhaps we should keep that between just the three of us moving forward,” Walter suggested helpfully.  
  
Felicity nodded. And then she did a double take, _finally_ realizing just who she had been confiding in about her sex life. Or, to be fair, her non-sex life, because that well was drier than Death Valley, and everyone knew that California was in the middle of a horrible drought. “Uh... Mr. Steele, what are _you_ doing here?” Blinking several times, Felicity took in the scene playing out before her eyes, the setting. She was sitting in a booth in a burger joint with Starling City's former billionaire playboy (but no less of a media darling) and her former boss, a very British (as far as her BBC obsession had convinced her) banker. “What are you doing _here_?”  
  
For the first time since she had arrived, Oliver spoke. “I thought it best if we met somewhere... more private.”  
  
Felicity groaned. “Oh no,” she exclaimed – shoulders falling, face crumpling, her good mood (relatively speaking) evaporating. “Who died?” Gaze zigzagging back and forth between the two men, she finally landed upon Walter... well, for obvious reasons. “Or is dying?”  
  
“Good god, Miss Smoak, I'm not _that_ old.”  
  
“Well, no,” she immediately agreed, rushing to allay his offense. But that didn't mean that she was ready to admit fault either. “But, statistically speaking....”  
  
Before she could dig her hole any deeper, Oliver cut her off. “Nobody's dying. Nothing's wrong.” She sighed in relief. “We just... what we need to discuss with you is extremely sensitive.”  
  
“Isn't it always,” she quipped with a roll of her eyes. Perhaps the gesture was somewhat muted behind her glasses, but Walter still smirked. Meanwhile, Oliver just looked like someone had given him a wedgie... which he should be used to given his penchant for leather pants, but that really wasn't something she should be thinking about at the moment – sitting across from Walter, having a very serious conversation inside Big Belly Burger of all places. Ugh. Where were the other children – Digg and Roy – when she needed their support... i.e. their juvenile senses of humor?  
  
“Felicity,” Walter took control, seemingly sensing that Oliver and Felicity could bicker back and forth all night without actually accomplishing anything. And he was right. They could. It was a more recent development in their relationship, or, really, it was a callback to how things had been between them in the beginning. “How much attention do you pay to politics?”  
  
“More than Oliver, that's for sure.”  
  
“Right,” Walter responded, sounding resigned.   
  
On the other hand, the former billionaire in question protested vehemently, “hey!” It wasn't the most eloquent of objections, but Oliver still got his point across.   
  
Felicity just grinned innocently, mischievously... and, yes, that combination was possible, folding her hands before her on top of the formica table. “Let's just cut to the chase, shall we,” she suggested. “I can only handle so much small talk on an empty stomach, and neither of you seem in any hurry to order.”  
  
“Good god no,” Walter grimaced, shuddering. “You don't actually eat here, do you?” At Felicity's raised, pointed brow (basically, she gave him her best 'duh' expression), he blanched in horror. “Ms. Smoak, we're only here because Oliver assured me that the press would not find us here. We don't want them getting wind of our plans until we're ready to formally announce.”  
  
“Ready to announce what?”  
  
“I'm going to pick up where my mother left off and run for mayor.”  
  
Frowning, Felicity snapped, “be serious, Oliver.” When he and Walter just exchanged guileless glances, her mouth fell open in shock... like a fish. It was very unbecoming but a well-deserved moment of losing her composure. Then, she laughed... a full-on belly laugh, which was appropriate, Felicity reasoned, considering where they were. “You,” she mocked, wiping away a tear of mirth. “A public figure of honor, justice, and good will?” Okay, so it fit with his not-so-public persona, but Walter (and the rest of the city, for that matter) were still in the dark as to who Oliver really was when the sun went down and the lights came up... right? While she couldn't go with that angle in her protestations – _um, hello, how can you be a secret vigilante/hero when you're the man in front of the curtain, running the city?_ – there were other wrinkles to consider, to present and argue. “Who's going to vote for you?”  
  
Oliver looked offended and annoyed with her question, but it was Walter who answered. “He'd be running uncontested. Plus, Moira was able to greatly repair the family's image before she... passed. Oliver has been a different man since his return. The polls show that the people of Starling City both recognize and respect that. Plus, now that he's technically an underdog, he's actually more relatable.”  
  
“Which makes him more electable,” she supplied, filling in where her former boss left off. But that didn't mean that Felicity was ready to accept what was being presented to her yet, that she was finished objecting to this... ludicrous, preposterous idea. “But... what about Queen Consolidated,” she sputtered, zeroing her unwavering gaze into Oliver's. “What about getting your family's company back?”  
  
“If Ray Palmer wants to run my company, he can... for now,” Oliver answered, shocking Felicity even further. Since the moment they arrived back in Starling after yet again taking their _summer vacation_ to Lian Yu – this time to drop someone off, not pick someone up, Oliver had been all about QC, about reclaiming his fortune, and about beating his latest business rival. “I'll run _my_ city.”  
  
Oh, for the love of.... “Why don't you two just whip your... _responsibilities_... out on the table and compare them already,” Felicity groused, tired of the testosterone fueled oneupmanship she had been witness to between the two men recently.   
  
Apparently finding _this_ vein of bickering more amusing, Walter encouraged, “and who is going to judge the size of these... responsibilities, Ms. Smoak? Yourself, perhaps?”  
  
Before she could respond, before she could play along, before she could even smile at the teasing, Oliver quietly seethed, “over my dead body.”  
  
Glaring at him from across the table, Felicity didn't say anything out loud, but she let her displeasure be known nonetheless. Silently, she condemned Oliver. _You can't have it both ways_ , the snapping blue flames of her eyes said. _You can't push me away but keep me close. You can't refuse to be with me but become all melodramatic and possessive at even the thought of me being with someone else. You can't tell me what to do, who to date, or, in this case, who not to date or do_. It didn't matter, though, how much she glowered at him, how much she mentally yelled at him... and Felicity had no doubt that he could hear everything she was thinking, Oliver wouldn't back down. He returned her heated glance with every ounce of fervor he had, never blinking.   
  
It was Walter who broke their little staring contest. “While this is all extremely fascinating, we didn't just ask you to meet us here, Ms. Smoak, so we could tell you about Oliver's bid for mayor.” When she still refused to look away from Oliver, Walter added, “we want to offer you a job.”  
  
Well, that certainly did the trick. Surprised, she glanced at her former boss, saying the first thing that came to mind. “But I already have a job.” Yeah. Working for Ray Palmer... which Oliver just _loved_.  
  
“I want you to join the campaign,” Oliver revealed.  
  
“As what,” she barked, once more shooting daggers at him. Oh, Felicity knew what he was up to. Oliver didn't like it when she wasn't close. They had been down this road before, and that road eventually came to the dead-end of her career. “Your campaign manager, because, Oliver, just like being your executive assistant, that's just a secretary gig wrapped up in the shiny bow of a different, less offensive title.”  
  
She could have gone on for days – weeks!... well past the actual election, but Walter shut her up with just four words. “As his deputy mayor.” Shocked and at a loss for words – a first for her, perhaps, Felicity just sat back and listened as the most unlikely... yet surprisingly not unappealing job offer was presented to her. “We want you to run for office with Oliver. We think that the two of you will be – _are –_ an unbeatable team.” Mentally, she snorted. If only Walter knew the half of it.... “Your backgrounds, your skills, your strengths couldn't be more opposite if you tried, but that just means that you compliment each other well. Plus, as this meeting has emphasized for me yet again, you keep Oliver on his toes, Ms. Smoak. That's good for a politician... even better for a man.”  
  
If she didn't know better, Felicity would have thought Walter was pitching Oliver to her as more than just a running-mate. In fact, drop the running portion of that noun, and she'd arrive at what was being suggested. “I... I don't know what to say.”  
  
Walter shrugged, grinned, and then stood up – tossing several bills onto the table out of habit despite the fact that none of them had ordered a thing. “Say yes, Ms. Smoak.” And then he left, leaving her alone with Oliver in a restaurant... because _that_ had ended so well the last time.   
  
Wow.  
  
Just... wow. 


	2. FF#13: Deputy Mommy - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I wrote this BEFORE we saw inside of Felicity's apartment, and I try to stay as spoiler free as possible, so I didn't look at pictures of her place before 3x05 either. Because of this, the description of her flat will differ from what we saw on screen. I debated over whether or not I should change this, but I elected to keep it the way it is in honor of the flash fic structure. I hope this won't be too distracting. Thanks for reading and enjoy!
> 
> ~Charlynn~

**FF#13: Deputy Mommy**

**Part Two**

**Flash Fic Prompt #13: Silent as the Grave**

Well, it was official.  
  
She did it.  
  
Felicity had signed up for a print newspaper subscription.  
  
She was now an adult... a very unprogressive, old adult.  
  
That thought should have been more frightening than it was.  
  
Practically rolling out of bed because the sun wasn't up yet, and because she was exhausted from yet another late-night strategizing session – why they had to strategize when they were running uncontested – and, yes, she _was_ running with Oliver – Felicity had no idea, and because rolling was easier on her old-lady back, Felicity eventually maneuvered her body into a standing position... only to immediately slouch forward and fold her arms over her chest. She was too sleepy to stand up straight; she was too chilly to not try and burrow into her own lingering from slumber body warmth. Quickly sliding her feet into a pair of carefully placed slippers (for optimal and immediate use), she set off towards the main living parts of her apartment, shuffling along.  
  
Felicity took her time... and she took a detour to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee that had been brewed according to her pre-settings. She'd finish the rest of the pot while she consumed her very first edition of a print newspaper, but, in the meantime, she needed to brace herself for going outside... even if it was only to retrieve said first edition of a print newspaper off of her front stoop. Eyes open only to slit level, she sipped at her mug of java, grumbling under her breath.  
  
This! This was exactly why she had always relied upon online media for her breaking headlines (and gossip). Online came to her; she didn't have to go to it. For someone who, quite frankly, made the internet her bitch (she did, Felicity could not deny it), physically seeking out information felt alien, but there was just something about seeing your name in print, your face on the front page – real, tangible proof of her own importance, of her own accomplishments – that meant something to Felicity... enough so that she broke down and subscribed to the local paper.  
  
It wasn't like she was going to clip the articles about her run for Deputy Mayor and send them to her mother. She wasn't even going to save them for herself. Felicity wasn't that type of girl – the sentimental, scrap-booking type. She had ego, but it wasn't the size of Texas. It was more like... Washington – liberal in view and average in size. But that didn't mean that she wasn't excited either. Because she was.  
  
Ever since she was fourteen and in the ninth grade, she had craved power... not in the 'I'm going to rule the world and make you all my minions – insert evil laugh here' kind of power, but in that it would be nice to have a voice. Growing up, her mother's word had always been law. Donna Smoak didn't have the patience to entertain her daughter's opinion, let alone the time or energy. It was only once Felicity entered high school and her class started voting on officers and student council representatives that she realized she could have an actual say in her own life. Felicity had been too shy to run for anything all those years before, but that wasn't the case now.  
  
Perhaps more importantly, she had ideas, too – ideas about how Starling should be run, ideas about how to make it a better place for all and not just for the 1%. Not only did she come to the table with her insights from being a self-made woman in what was still a man's world, but she also knew what the city was like at night. She knew its darkness, its seedy underbelly, its nightmares, and, for two years now, she had been working to fix it, one bad guy at a time. Now, she had a platform to do good outside of the shadows, and that wasn't an opportunity Felicity planned on wasting.  
  
Practically licking the last drags of coffee from her mug, she set the cup down on her kitchen island and then stood up from the stool on which she had been sitting. “I'll be back for you later,” she promised the life-giving liquid, leaving the room and heading towards her front door with more pep in her step than she'd possessed five minutes earlier. As soon as Felicity walked out into the lobby of her building, she shivered, already anticipating her next cup of coffee upon re-entering her home.  
  
There was a gust of wind that seemed to push the door of the brownstone open even further, faster. It whistled down the eaves, and it sent a chill up Felicity's spine... which was ridiculous, because it was just wind. She was running for Deputy Mayor, not running for her life in a scary movie. There wasn't a full moon, her street was quiet, and she had absolutely no reason to fear... well, anything besides an unflattering picture being used to announce their run for office. Disregarding the sudden wave of dread that washed over her, Felicity bent to retrieve her newspaper... only for her body to stop mid-movement, her gaze landing upon booted – _tiny_ booted – feet instead of ink and paper.  
  
“Unless I've suddenly been transported into a production of The Newsies, you're too young to be my paperboy... not to mention the fact that you're not Christian Bale. Or would it be paper-person... you know, to be PC and everything?”  
  
No response.  
  
So, Felicity allowed her gaze to move up from the little (okay, she could admit it), adorable green rain boots (that was a coincidence, right?) to find equally little legs encased in khaki pants, a small torso and arms housed inside a long, blue rain coat, and a face that just wanted to be pinched hidden behind the cowl of the attached blue hood. (Well, at least that wasn't green, too.) As she observed the child standing before her, Felicity also noticed that he wore a backpack and was holding something in his hands.  
  
“Are you lost,” she tried, glancing up and then down her street, but, like she had noted before, it was empty. At this time of morning, there wasn't any traffic, and everyone else was sleeping blissfully unaware in their beds – oblivious to her foray into politics and, in that moment, oblivious to her surprise guest as well. “Did you run away from home? Do you need to use my phone to call your parents?”  
  
Rather than reply, the child simply pushed an envelope towards her. What was even stranger than the situation Felicity found herself in, including the little boy's silence, was the fact that the envelope was addressed to her – a formal _Felicity Smoak_ scrawled across the cream paper in black ink and written with a feminine touch. Not knowing what else to do, she took the note from the unknown child, sliding her finger under its seal, and removing the missive... only she didn't find a letter inside. Instead, it was just a single sheet of paper, five life-changing words written across the center. She read them out loud.  
  
“He should have been yours.”  
  
“What,” Felicity instantly responded, looking from the unsuspecting... or so she assumed... child and then back towards the note, her head bobbing up and down as she searched for some clue as to what was going on. “I don't.... This has to be some kind of joke. Right?” But the piece of paper she held in her hands couldn't tell her anything else, and the boy seemed absolutely unwilling to talk to her. Not that she could blame him. He was probably traumatized – dropped off on some stranger's stoop in the middle of night, left alone without a clue as to what was going on. Plus, not to mention, how long had he been standing out there, waiting for her? Minutes? Hours? The wind gusted again, and Felicity's teeth started chattering.  
  
“Oh, god,” she moaned in realization, in worry. The poor kid was probably freezing. “We have to get you inside.” But she couldn't... could she? He wasn't her child. She had no idea who he was. What if... would it be illegal for her to take him into her home? Illegal or not, Felicity knew that it would be inhumane to leave him outside while she waited for... someone to come and help her sort through this mess.  
  
Decision made, she reached out to usher the child indoors but then stopped herself, holding her hands out in front of her to display innocence. “I'm not kidnapping him,” she proclaimed just in case someone was watching. And she was announcing that day to the world that she was running for public office, so it wasn't just paranoia that made her think hidden eyes could be trained upon her – upon them – that very moment. “He's free to go whenever he wants, whenever a responsible adult arrives to take him back to where he belongs. But, in the meantime, I can't just leave him out here.” Dropping her voice to talk to the little boy, Felicity added, “come on, let's get you inside where it's warm. Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”  
  
The child didn't answer her, but he did slowly... as if testing the waters, so to speak, step inside of her building and then, once she indicated where he should go, walk into her apartment. After they were inside, he followed her to the kitchen where Felicity watched in part shock and part amusement as the kid pushed his hood away from his face and off of his head before climbing up onto one of her stools. He still didn't say anything, and he certainly looked like someone had dropkicked his puppy... which, since it seemed like he had been abandoned, was a fair expression for the kid to take up, but, apparently, the offering of food was the universal welcome she needed to use to make him feel comfortable enough around her to let down at least some of his guards.  
  
Reflexively, Felicity went to her coffee pot. She was just about to pour the child a cup when she realized who – well, not _who_ , because she had no idea who the kid was but at least how old the person was that she was currently... entertaining. Perhaps they'd save coffee for when he reached double digits, because, if the boy was a day over eight, she'd eat her very own first print newspaper edition... once she actually brought it inside. Haltingly, she put the pot back on its warmer and then moved towards her fridge, pulling it open and blanching at its contents. Because of her busy schedule, plans to go grocery shopping often got pushed back... if not forgotten. Basically, she had no business offering a child breakfast unless she was going to serve him condiments.  
  
Closing the appliance, Felicity moved towards her cabinets, opening and shutting them at random in agitation, in desperation. Finally, however, she landed upon some hot chocolate mix and an unopened container of oatmeal – something she had picked up months before when she had promised herself, yet again, that she'd start to eat healthier. Given that the container still had its seal, obviously she... hadn't quite gotten around to that goal yet. She didn't have milk, and she only had granulated sugar, not brown, but starving orphans couldn't be choosers, so, when she placed the less than appetizing bowl of oatmeal before the boy along with his made from water and not milk hot chocolate, he dove in like Kobayashi.  
  
“You just... enjoy,” Felicity told the child, backing away from him. He wasn't a grenade – she had stepped on a landmine once, so she should know, but the little boy, nevertheless, felt just as dangerous. “I'm going to,” and she gestured vaguely behind her. “Yeah.” Without further being said, Felicity disappeared, leaving the kid alone in her kitchen. Practically diving across her living room, she grabbed her cell phone off of her coffee table, zeroing in on and calling one of her most often dialed contacts.  
  
If a situation had _ever_ called for back up, this was it. 

 


	3. FF#14: Deputy Mommy - Part Three

**FF#14: Deputy Mommy – Part Three**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #14: Oops!**

“Did you drug him?”  
  
“What,” Felicity exclaimed, caught off guard and completely shocked by the inquiry.  
  
The man beside her shrugged. “It's a legitimate question.” She was already sputtering in protest when he continued, “I mean, it wouldn't be the first time.”  
  
The only thing she could think to say in response... wasn't actually words. Which... was probably a first for her, but there was a first time for everything, right? Balling up her right fist, Felicity slugged Roy in the shoulder as hard as she could, purposefully aiming for tendons, and ligaments, and nerves, hoping to give him a dead arm. It was the least he deserved for that crack.  
  
“Ow!” Rubbing his shoulder and glowering at her – also, apparently, unconcerned about waking the sleeping little boy they were both watching like he was a poisonous snake, coiled up and just waiting to strike, Roy asked, “what was that for?”  
  
“You accused me of drugging a child.”  
  
Like it was the most obvious connection, like the two situations were even remotely alike, Roy argued, “you drugged me.”  
  
“What the hell, Roy! You were an adult who was pumped up on mira- _kill-you_. That,” she gestured vaguely towards the slumbering child. “That's an innocent kid who was just abandoned on _my_ front doorstep. I cannot believe you would accuse me of that.”  
  
“Well, if the syringe fits.”  
  
Felicity's eyes narrowed in annoyance. “A needle reference? Now? When I'm already _freaking_ freaking out here? Nice. Really nice, Roy,” she scoffed.  
  
His eyes became wide with feigned innocence. “Hey, it's not my fault I jumped to that conclusion. You're the one who's always telling me that I act like an overgrown child, a five year old.” Roy's brow furrowed as if he just realized something else. “And watch your damn potty mouth already. You're a mom now.”  
  
Felicity reared back as if struck, jabbing an accusing finger towards her friend's – okay, so she might have to rethink the status of their relationship given how this visit was progressing – face. “You take that back. I am _not_ a mother – his, yours, or anyone else's for that matter.”  
  
Roy snickered. “You kind of are.” Before she could fight him on that, he pressed onward. “I saw the note, remember? Someone with girly handwriting, so I'm assuming it was his first-string mother, just bequeathed their kid to you.”  
  
“Since when do you use words like 'bequeathed?'”  
  
“Since when are you so twisted up by a seven year old that you can't even properly debate with me anymore?”  
  
Roy was right. She really was losing her grip. Sighing so harshly that the pieces of her messy, tangled hair closest to her face lifted with the exhalation, Felicity flopped down onto her couch, Roy taking a seat next to her seconds later in a much calmer manner. After a moment, he hesitantly reached out to grab her hand, Felicity latching onto his fingers like they were her only life-line... and maybe they were. Her feet felt numb. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, and breathing was less than instinctual at that point. Her chest felt exactly like that time she'd had a bomb collar wrapped around her neck. And like the time she'd been held at gunpoint by a gangster after counting cards in his underground casino. And like the time she stepped on a landmine _after_ jumping out of a plane... if that rust bucket they'd taken to Lian Yu could even be considered an actual piece of aircraft. And like that time some creepy guy had wanted to turn her into a dead, life-sized, did she mention dead? doll. And then there was that time when the Count almost shot her up with vertigo, the time she had been shot... with a bullet, the time she'd been in a pirouetting van, the time....  
  
“So, who do you think he is?”  
  
Roy's query thankfully pulled her out of her trip down 'the times I almost died' memory lane. Without blinking, Felicity studied the _he_ in question. “I have no idea.”  
  
“Could he be... related to you?”  
  
Roy didn't know much (as in anything) about her family, so it was a legitimate thought. Plus, the little boy was blonde. His eyes were brown, though, and his face still had that roundness of childhood, his features soft and unfinished like most kids his age. “Perhaps a distant cousin,” Felicity allowed, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I'm not.... My parents split when I was little.” More like her dad split when he abandoned them. “And my mom wasn't close with her relatives, so I didn't really grow up with that whole extended family thing that most kids have.”  
  
“Hey, you're talking to someone raised in the Glades. Trust me, you don't have to explain.”  
  
“Well, for me, it was Vegas, and it was lonely, and, if I have aunts or cousins out there capable of doing this, then, yeah, maybe we're related.”  
  
“You were raised by your mom, right,” Roy stated for clarity. “Could your dad have had another kid you didn't know about? Maybe you have a little sister out there, and this is her little boy?”  
  
For all Felicity knew, Jack Doe (because John was just too old for the child asleep at her kitchen island – his right hand still holding his spoon and resting in his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal, a pile of drool forming under his pursed, slightly open mouth) could be her father's son. Or, hell, even her mother's, and, surprising herself, she actually said as much out loud. “I haven't seen my mom since I left for MIT right after high school. It's been... eight years. We barely talk.” She laughed, but there was no joy behind the gesture, no humor. “Maybe he's even hers.” Then snorting in derision, Felicity added, “trust me, it wouldn't be the first time she picked some married man up at work for a one night stand and did something stupid... like have a kid at her age and then just dump him off on her estranged, adult daughter.”  
  
Whether he had no idea how to handle a bitter, emotional Felicity, bored with her woe-is-me family tale, or just distracted because he had the attention span of a fruit fly, Roy suddenly changed the subject. “So, what's in his backpack?”  
  
She was slightly caught off guard by the shift. “Huh?”  
  
“His bag,” Roy emphasized, gesturing to the knapsack still strapped to the child's shoulders. “What's in it?”  
  
“How should I know?”  
  
He stood, already moving towards the kitchen, causing Felicity to scramble up after him. “You mean, you haven't gone through it? Maybe there's another letter inside – an explanation, directions.”  
  
“Roy, children don't come with directions.”  
  
“Well, this one sure as hell should,” he grumbled. She hated to admit it, but she kind of agreed with him. Roy then lowered his voice even more. “Plus, you're running for deputy mayor _and_ you're dating the Arrow.”  
  
“Oliver and I are not dating,” she hissed, glaring at him.  
  
She could tell he wanted to argue that point further, but they had more pressing issues at hand. “Fine. You're his sidekick.”  
  
“No, you're his sidekick; I'm his partner.”  
  
“Yeah, like I said,” Roy snickered, smirked. “You're dating.” Frustrated and unwilling to engage the infuriating imbecile further, Felicity just stepped up to the sleeping little boy and slowly, hesitantly, carefully unzipped his book-bag. Roy kept talking, his voice once more returning to its normal level, because, apparently, he no longer cared if he woke the kid, because she was already invading his privacy, so his curiosity could be satisfied, and she'd be the only one who looked like an insensitive, nosy... adult. “Given all that, I would have thought the first thing you did when you saw that the kid was carrying something with him was search him.”  
  
“For what,” she scoffed, pulling out several books, a small container of Legos, and coloring supplies. “A bomb? You're an idiot.”  
  
“I don't know,” Roy excused – his shoulder practically lifting to his ears as his eyes widened with a complete lack of guile. Or gumption, evidently. “He could be like a kamikaze... or something.”  
  
Felicity stopped what she was doing, looking up to meet her friend's wide gaze. “Like I said, idiot.” Then, without further ado, she returned to her task, removing a change of clothes and a pair of sneakers. “Here,” she thrust the clothes at Roy, already moving towards the smaller side pockets. “Look at the tags.” The side pockets only produced matchbox cars and small army figurines. As she held the little toys in her hands, Felicity found a grin tugging up the corners of her mouth. It was just... so sweet. And sad. She found herself wondering whether or not the child realized, when he packed his bag, that he wouldn't be going home again, that the trip he was going on would be permanent, because, no matter what she said or did, Felicity knew that what was happening wasn't an accident. It wasn't a mistake. And the child's mother wasn't going to show up in a few hours, frantic to take her son home. He didn't run away, and this wasn't some random coincidence. He was there – on her doorstep and, now, inside of her home – for a reason, and that was perhaps the most frightening thing Felicity had faced in the two years since she had joined Oliver on his mission.  
  
The most frightening thing she had ever faced.  
  
Putting the toys back away, she turned to Roy and found him cluelessly holding the kid's clothes. “Why are you just standing there? Why aren't you looking?”  
  
Slowly, he asked, “at the tags?” Why?”  
  
“Because,” Felicity huffed, taking the things from him and doing it herself. First she checked the shoes, then the jeans, then the sweater, and then finally she even looked at the miniature underwear, all the while explaining her actions. “When there are kids with the same things in schools, or when there are siblings close in age, parents will sometimes write their kids' names on the tags of their clothes... to tell them apart.”  
  
“As far as you know, you're an only child, right, and I've seen the way you dress. I have no doubt that no other kid wore clothes like you did to school, so how do you know parents do this?”  
  
“Because I saw in on TV,” she mumbled.  
  
Roy started laughing, so she went with her instincts; she slapped him upside the back of the head.  
  
“Hey,” he yelled, shooting daggers at her with his eyes and gingerly patting the base of his skull, the moment eerily similar to when he had first arrived and accused her of drugging a child. “What the hell was that for?”  
  
“Because you deserved it.” When he didn't protest, she knew he saw the merit in her argument. “And watch your mouth... Uncle Roy.”  
  
Felicity didn't quite know yet what was going to happen, what she was going to do, or even what she could do, but Roy's suddenly paling face was all the reason she needed to dub him an uncle. As for everything else, well...? Dumping the kid's clothes on the counter, she spun around in her slippers and went back into her living room, picking up her cell. Once again, the number she dialed was a frequent flyer on her iPhone. For once in her life, Felicity wasn't going to solve a problem. Instead, she was going to dump it off into someone else's lap.  
  
As the phone rang, she realized that she really was good at this whole politics thing.


	4. FF#15: Deputy Mommy - Part Four

**FF#15: Deputy Mommy – Part Four**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #15: Bad Day, Good Night.**

“Whatever this is, it better be important,” Detective – no, scratch that, it was Captain now – Lance said as soon as Felicity pulled open the front door of her building, the man crossing the threshold without waiting for further prompting and passing over her newspaper to her on his way. “Because it's barely eight a.m., and, already, it's been a day.” He waltzed straight into her apartment, never once stopping his rant. “Apparently, my waterbed sprung a leak last night, because I woke up soaked. And I know what you're thinking,” he warned her with furrowed brows and pointed index finger. “And I don't want to hear it, so don't even go there. Damn toenails.” She was thinking that she never needed to know what kind of bed Captain Lance had... or, for that matter, ever have cause to think about his feet. “Then, I couldn't find any clean underwear, so I'm wearing these green speedo... things that Laurel bought me as a gag gift. Uncomfortable bastards.” As he complained, he started to walk with a slight limp, and Felicity... shuddered. This was just wrong. When they rounded the hallway and entered her living room, her horror was at least buoyed by the fact that Roy looked traumatized. Good. At least she wasn't the only one. “Not to mention the fact that, once I got in my car to drive over here, I realized that my coffee was cold, so my coffee pot must be broken.”   
  
To emphasize his words, Captain Lance thrust his travel mug into her hands, Felicity's forehead wrinkling in confusion when she realized it was empty – unscrew the lid, turn it over, and still not a drop would fall out empty. “But...?”  
  
“What, you didn't think I wasn't going to drink it, did you,” Lance scoffed, his face screwing up with disbelief. “It was just cold, not poisoned. And I'm a cop for pete's sake. I've had worse.” Without waiting for a response, he moved towards her kitchen, passing Roy on the way. “Harper,” he greeted with a nod, apparently not finding it strange that a former street thug was standing in her apartment fully dressed and speechless at 8:03 in the morning on the same day that she was announcing to the world – or, at least, Starling City – that she was running for Deputy Mayor with Oliver Queen. “So, what's going on? What's wrong? What's the emergency? Why'd you call and wake me up out of...? Holy shit.” Lance came to a skidding stop in the doorway between the two rooms. “That's a kid,” he hissed, turning around to stare wide-eyed at Felicity. “ _In your kitchen_.”  
  
His shock helped to temper her own. “Gee, you don't say. I hadn't noticed.”  
  
“Why's he... why's he sleeping like that,” the police captain wanted to know, gesturing towards the practically passed out child. She watched as he quickly took in his surroundings, years of always looking for the evidence kicking in automatically. “What'd you do, slip him a mickey or something?”  
  
“No,” Felicity huffed, annoyed. “Why does everyone keep accusing me of that?”  
  
Lance shrugged, his gaze going to Roy. “Why'd she call you?” Before either Felicity or Roy could answer, he changed his line of questioning somewhat. “Wait. How do the two of you even know each other?” Then he moved fully back into the living room, taking a seat in an armchair. “Just... start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”  
  
Roy just helplessly turned towards her, so Felicity took the reins of the conversation in hand. “Roy's a nuisance, but he's also a... a friend.” When Roy didn't complain about her insult, she really knew how thrown he was by Captain Lance's presence, TMI confessions, and questions. “We met through the Queens.”  
  
“Speaking about your boyfriend,” Lance snorted, rolling his eyes. So much for giving her a chance to talk. “Does he know about the kid snoring z's into his Lucky Charms in there?”  
  
“It's oatmeal,” she corrected automatically, shaking her head in slight self-reprimand at not being able to let an inaccuracy go without correcting it. “And Oliver is not my boyfriend.”  
  
“Really,” the cop drawled in disbelief. When she just looked at him impassively, he held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. If that's how you want to play this. And I guess it's a good thing since he's going to be your boss again,” he added, gesturing towards the paper tossed haphazardly onto her coffee table. “By the way, I never pegged you as a newspaper subscriber. That seems... out of character.”  
  
Of all the things that seemed out of character that morning – a known felon in her living room, a strange child asleep at her kitchen island...? “Oliver's not going to be my boss. We're... partners.”  
  
Lance smirked. “Like I said, then, you're dating.” She really needed new friends. “So, does he – Queen – know... about the kid?”  
  
“I'm already freaking out enough here,” Felicity answered, starting to pace – her left hand going up to rub at her temple while her right arm folded across her chest so her right hand could wrap around her left elbow. “The last thing I need is Oliver freaking out, too, so no. He doesn't know. And I'd like to keep it that way. At least, for now.”  
  
“Yeah... I could see how a sudden son showing up out of the blue right when you're in the middle of a political campaign could throw your future mayor of a boyfriend into a tailspin. By the way,” Lance added, snapping his fingers at her and raising his eyebrows in emphasis. “I don't care how much he's changed, I'm not voting for him.”  
  
“They're running uncontested,” Roy spoke for the first time, seemingly finding his voice now that the other man had accused her of a having a _freaking secret kid_! “Who else are you going to vote for?”  
  
“Anybody else,” Lance answered. “The mayor's my boss, do you realize that? I'd rather it be anyone else besides Queen. Hell, I'd vote for you before I voted for him.”  
  
The two of them could have gone on for hours if Felicity wouldn't have spoken up. “You think... you think he's _mine,”_ she gasped _._ The words caught in her throat, choking her.   
  
Lance shrugged. “He's here. He's cute, blonde.”  
  
“Hey, that's what I said,” Roy commented, sharing a grin with the cop. The traitor.  
  
“No,” Felicity snapped, backing up several steps until she was pressed up against the far wall, putting as much distance between herself and them as possible. “You thought maybe he was my brother or my nephew, but you never accused me of... of having a child and... what? Giving him up?”  
  
“Usually this doesn't happen until the kid's an adult, right,” Lance asked. “Or at least a teenager? How'd he get here?”  
  
“We don't know,” Roy answered the Captain, but no one seemed to be addressing her questions.  
  
“I have to admit,” Lance continued, practically ignoring her, “that I never thought this would happen to her.” With that, he hooked a thumb in Felicity's direction. “Queen? Sure. It's actually kind of a miracle that this hasn't happened with him yet. And you,” Quentin nodded in Roy's direction. “This would make sense for you, too, but not Miss Smoak.”  
  
“That's because he's not mine,” she raised her voice – practically yelling, practically screaming, and definitely not caring who heard or who woke up because of her heated, loud exclamations. “I don't have a child. I never did. I never gave a baby up for adoption. I've never given birth. I've never even been pregnant. I don't know who he is, or where he came from, or why he's here. That's why I called you,” she finally finished, explaining her actions. Stalking across the room, Felicity slapped the note the little boy had handed to her what felt like years ago rather than just two hours against Lance's chest. “And here,” she said, letting go of the missive once he took it from her. “That's the beginning. That's all I know. Now, you're caught up, so would you please just... tell me what to do.”  
  
It took only seconds for Lance to read the five words written in the foreign, unsigned hand. Folding the piece of paper back up, he stood – reaching for her shoulders and holding her in a steadying, apologetic manner. “I'll call child protective services. We'll take care of this.”  
  
He went to move away, already reaching for his phone, when she spoke up – her voice quiet, and hesitant, and small in its insecurity. “What... what will happen to him?”  
  
“We'll start looking into who he is, try to find his parents. In the meantime, he'll be placed in a home or with temporary foster parents. After we locate his family... well, that will depend.”  
  
But would it really? What kind of explanation could possibly excuse what had been done to the child Felicity now found her life inexplicably linked to? And what if he was related to her; what if she was a part of that family the cops would be searching for? What if she _wasn't_? What if there wasn't someone out there who was good, and dependable, and capable of taking care of a child – this child? There were so many thoughts swirling around her mind, and no one was more startled at the words that next left her dry and chapped lips than Felicity herself, but she didn't regret what she asked either. “How does someone become a temporary foster parent?”  
  
“What are you saying, Miss Smoak,” Lance wanted to know, taking a step closer to her and narrowing his gaze in focus.  
  
“I... I don't really know,” she laughed in confusion, in distress, running her hands through her hair and then wincing when her fingers became stuck in the knots. Yet, she did. She did know what she was saying. And then suddenly she just couldn't stop talking. “He's not my child. I'm not his mother. I don't even know if I want to be a mother. I have never laid eyes on that little boy until this morning, but we're... connected now. For some reason, he came to me. Or he was brought to me. I don't know. And now I need answers. I need to know who he is, and why he's here, and why me, and, if his actual mother thinks that he should have been mine, I need to know if I'm even capable of taking care of him. I just... I need to do this. I need to see this through... wherever it takes me.”  
  
Lance nodded, seemingly understanding. He grinned slightly, and Felicity would have sworn that she saw pride shining through his tired, sad eyes. “Then you better call Queen, Miss Deputy Mayor, because you're about to throw one hell of a monkey wrench into your campaign.”


	5. FF#16: Deputy Mommy - Part Five

**FF#16: Deputy Mommy – Part Five**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #16: Detour**

Oliver had yet to comment on... well, anything, really. Oh, he talked. He said and did everything one would be expected to say and do in such a situation. _How are you? Are you okay? What happened? Who is he? Where did he come from? What happens next?_ But she didn't want him to act like everyone else, like she was just anyone else. From the very beginning, their relationship had been different. Better. She was the one person he didn't pretend with... well, other than that whole 'my latte was so acidic that it burned holes into my laptop... bullet sized, randomly placed holes' thing, but, eventually, he told her the truth about that as well. The point was that, for the first time since they had met, Oliver wasn't being _emotionally_ honest with her. That stung.  
  
It also was driving Felicity crazy, too. She was so used to just... knowing everything about Oliver that _not_ knowing was consuming her every thought. Instead of thinking about what she would say to the press that evening or about her next step in becoming Little Orphan Annie's (because the kid still wasn't talking, and she had no idea who he was – not even his name) _temporary_ , legal guardian, Felicity was worrying about Oliver. Stewing, in fact. And what bothered her the most wasn't the fact that, so far, he had been completely radio silent on the matter but, instead, was the reason behind it.  
  
Ever since they made like an exercise with magnets – pull me close, repel me far, far away, Oliver had been distant. Felicity was honestly surprised that, after Sara's death, he hadn't pushed her away entirely... as in off the team. But he hadn't, so she hadn't been forced to kick his ass to Bludhaven and back, and perhaps that's what was needed between them... to clear the air, so to speak. Because, since their kiss and her decision to walk away, absolutely nothing had been said. It was the unvoiced sexual tension in the room (which had always seemingly been there between them now that she thought about it) but multiplied by too many misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and disappointments to count. And now this – Felicity becoming a foster parent to a little boy who just showed up on her doorstep? It seemed to be the piece of straw that broke the hero's back.  
  
“Say... something!” She didn't even know that she was going to talk until the words were already tumbling past her stained lips.   
  
From where Felicity sat beside Oliver in the back seat of the Towncar they were riding in towards their first political event together – a formal announcement party, she watched him, unblinking, as he studiously refused to meet her gaze. Oliver would look everywhere _but_ in her direction – his eyes jumping from the rain streaked window, to the floor, to his hands which were loosely clasped together over his knees – the grip a contradiction to the turmoil she could obviously see him struggling with. At any other time in their, now, more than two year... friendship, she would have crossed the distance between them – and there was quite a bit of distance, because they both had elected to hug the edges of their respective sides of the car – and wrapped both of her much smaller hands around his calloused ones, offering her silent support and strength in a gesture meant to comfort, meant to reassure him that he wasn't alone. But Felicity didn't understand the boundaries between them now. What was worse, where once she had been so confident in their bond that she never would have second guessed physical contact, now she had no idea if such a touch – her touch – would be welcome.   
  
Pulling her from her thoughts, Oliver started to talk – his voice scratchy and rough with disuse. “Are you...?” He paused, grimaced, swallowed thickly. “Are you quitting?”  
  
That's what he was worried about? Felicity nervously chuckled in response, her relief making her feel awkward. “While I never thought I'd run for Deputy Mayor with a former billionaire playboy turned secret masked crime-fighter, there's no way it could possibly be worse than the soul crushing experience that has been my career for the past six months; there's no way _I_ could be worse at politics than I am sales _and_ customer service. Besides, the cat's already out of the bag, Oliver. I think it's a little too late to try and put it back in now.” It wasn't until she finished _vomiting_ so many unnecessary words that she realized, while she had been anxiously rambling, Oliver had finally twisted around in his seat to face her, and he looked... pained. There were lines of stress, and hardship, and even fear – lines far deeper than what a man of his age should ever wear – dug into his forehead, webbing out from his tormented gaze, bracketing his mouth.  
  
“Felicity, I don't give a damn about being mayor. I meant us, what we do at night. Are you quitting... the team?”  
  
For a moment, she didn't know how to react. Oliver had just revealed... so much – both in what he said and what he didn't. She wanted to scream that there was no them – that he had finally let her hope that there could be a them, and then he ripped that dream out from underneath her, because he got scared. Again. She wanted to rage that _they_ were more than just their nighttime partnership, and she wanted to confront him on the fact that, even though he said team, it felt like he was asking her if she was quitting him, giving up on him. Didn't he realize yet that, no matter what foolish thing he did, what hurtful thing he said, what asinine mistake he made, she wasn't going anywhere?  
  
Instead of all of that... or any of it, Felicity settled on asking, “Oliver, why did you agree to be mayor?”  
  
Before he could respond, she heard Digg suck in a breath from the front seat where he was driving them to their event that evening. Felicity's neck snapped towards her friend's direction, her gaze narrowing when he innocently announced, “oh, would you look there. A detour. Looks like we're going to be late.” They were just blocks away from the hotel where the announcement event was being held, but John turned the car in the opposite direction.  
  
“What the hell are you talking about,” Roy demanded. And yeah. _He_ was also in the front seat. Why Roy had to come along as well, Felicity wasn't sure. And she didn't like it, because she was still annoyed with him (and Captain Lance) from that morning. Traitors, both of them. “There isn't an orange cone or barrel in sight.” Then Roy was squealing, and whining, “ow!”, and squirming in his seat before falling silent once more, so Felicity assumed Diggle had effectively gotten his 'shut the hell up' point across with some sort of physical violence.   
  
Turning back to Oliver, Felicity just stared at him, pointedly waiting for an answer. He ducked her gaze, but she didn't relent, and, eventually, he shrugged while staring out the window. The casual gesture did nothing to hide the tension coursing through his stiff and rigidly held body. “Walter asked me to.”  
  
“Since when do you do anything anyone asks you do, Oliver?”  
  
He started to rub the digits of his right hand together – his thumb against his index and middle fingers. “I owed him... for helping with Queen Consolidated last year.”  
  
Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, digging in her metaphorical heels. “Walter's not the type of guy who would call in markers.”  
  
“Doesn't mean that the debt shouldn't be paid.”  
  
“And me,” she pushed him, pushed herself, pushed _them_. In fact, Felicity found that, at some point during their conversation, she had closed much of the distance which separated their bodies... as if crowding Oliver would force him to confront her, confide in her. “Where do I come into play in all of this? Why ask me to be your deputy mayor?”  
  
“You're the smartest person I know.” Oliver's voice started out strong, but, the more he said, the softer his words became until he was just practically whispering. “You're also compassionate. You care. You want to make the world – Starling City – a better place. And I think that we work well together. You... balance me, make me better.”  
  
There was nothing wrong with anything that Oliver was saying. In fact, Felicity agreed with his answer. She _was_ the smartest person Oliver knew... which didn't say much, because mainly he spent his time with criminals ranging anywhere on the evil spectrum from street thugs to megalomaniac masterminds. She did care, their styles did compliment one another's, and they did bring out the best in each other. The problem was that Oliver wasn't telling her everything; he wasn't telling her the real reason why he asked her to be his deputy mayor.  
  
But then Felicity remembered what had started their entire conversation – Oliver questioning if she was going to quit, and she had her answer. Because of their failed attempt to be as much as they meant to one another, because of Sara's death, and because her desire to have more from life than just the team, Oliver had feared her pulling completely away, so he did the one thing he could think of to pull her even closer. It was manipulative, it was classic Oliver, and Felicity hated the fact that he still wasn't confident enough to just talk to her about his fears, but it was also kind of sweet, too.  
  
Smiling gently, she ignored her earlier misgivings and reached out, folding her hands around Oliver's still loosely clenched together fists. “I'm not quitting,” she promised him. Assured him. “I don't know how this will work exactly – bringing an impressionable, curious kid into our lives, but we'll figure it out. It might mean a little compromise, but this is something I have to do, Oliver. I... I don't even know why or how, but it's important. He's important – Huckleberry Finn. And not just to me. I can't explain it, but, somehow, I just know that he's important to all of us.” Squeezing his hands one last time and shrugging her shoulders, Felicity clarified her answer down to its barest, simplest form. “I'm not leaving you, Oliver.”  
  
Minutes later, when Digg pulled them up outside of the hotel – cameras flashing, reporters yelling over one another as they tried to get _the_ exclusive, it was Oliver who was holding her hands as he helped her out of the car and then led her through the surging mass of people that was the press line. 


	6. FF#17: Deputy Mommy - Part Six

**FF#17: Deputy Mommy – Part Six**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #17: Impulses**

Felicity's eyes ricocheted back and forth. “Creamy peanut butter or crunchy,” she asked herself, holding up the respective jars as she contemplated them. “That is the question.” A question that she had no answer to – damn Roy!, so she ended up tossing both options into her already heaping cart. Before she could walk away, the Simply version caught her eye, so she grabbed that as well for good measure. While she was allergic to nuts, peanut butter was one of the four staple childhood food groups. Unfortunately, she just didn't know what kind of peanut butter Mowgli liked.  
  
“Having an Elvis moment,” a familiar voice asked from beside her. Felicity glanced up from the grocery list she had pretty much thrown out the window after she started walking up and down the aisles, picking up everything and anything a kid might like to eat. She started to smile warmly at Captain Lance, but then she remembered that she was irked with him – depending upon his help with David Copperfield but still irked. So, instead, she scowled, the facial expression just becoming deeper set when she saw what was in his basket: potato chips, pop, cookies, and jerky. No wonder the man had a heart condition.   
  
“You know, green things won't kill you.”  
  
“I've heard. For about a year now,” Lance added, smirking. “Apparently, he's trying something new.” She frowned, not amused; he scratched his stubbled face, rocking back nervously on the heels of his boots. “So, where's the kid?”  
  
“At home. My home,” Felicity clarified quickly, though she realized afterwards that such clarification really wasn't necessary. If someone had come forward to claim Heidi, Captain Lance would have been the first person to know. His eyebrows quirked, and she rushed to explain... well, anything he might have been questioning with that little gesture. “He's not alone, don't worry. I know better than to leave a child of an undetermined age (but let's put him around eight) alone. Raisa's watching him.”  
  
“Queen's Raisa?”  
  
“Yeah. He, uh, he asked for her help on my behalf.”  
  
“Well, that was... nice... of him.” It looked like it was painful for Lance to give Oliver even that much praise.   
  
Felicity, however, still wasn't convinced that she had satisfied his eyebrows' judgement. “And it's not like I'm being an absentee foster parent applicant,” she rushed to add, holding out her hands as if they could ward away his suspicions and conclusions. “I was going to bring Pip with me, but then Roy started throwing a fit. You know, he's been acting really strangely ever since Heathcliff showed up on my front porch. But anyway,” she got them back on track, refusing to contemplate just what Roy's apparent attitude meant. “He started complaining that, if the kid came, then he was coming, too, because it wouldn't be fair if Sookie Stackhouse got to pick out all of the food.” Grumbling one last thing under her breath, Felicity added, “and it figures that, of all the pop culture orphans Roy could reference, he uses one that spent the majority of her time on-screen naked.”  
  
“Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that.” For a moment, Felicity thought Captain Lance was going to ask her about _True Blood_ , but he washed that fear away by, instead, inquiring about something equally as terrifying. “How'd that happen, you and that Harper punk?”  
  
Felicity was offended, insulted, and horrified by the implications of cop's question. “How did _what_ happen?”  
  
“Well, you're friends, right?”  
  
She sighed in relief. It was one thing for Captain Lance to think that she was dating Oliver, because, well, he was Oliver, and they had gone on one, explosion interrupted dinner together, but Roy?! Even the thought of someone drawing such a conclusion made her start scratching her arms like she was breaking out in hives. Roy was... Roy. He was... a pest. If anything, he was the little brother she never wanted and should probably just take care of by drowning in the bathtub. “We're...? He's...? He's just always around.” Which was the truth. Now that Roy was an official member of the team _and_ the Diggle to her Oliver (as soon as she was officially elected Deputy Mayor, the city would be hiring him on as her personal driver), he was always around, but that explanation wouldn't work for Captain Lance. “With Thea... _traveling_ , I think Oliver likes having Roy around, because it's what Thea would want. We're helping him out, keeping an eye on him.”  
  
“More like keeping him out of trouble,” Lance interpreted. “But that's good. I guess.” His face being screwed up in confusion didn't say the same thing, but Felicity wanted to move past their current conversation. Plus, they physically needed to move, because they were starting to create a pile up in aisle seven. Pushing her cart forward, she nodded her head in the direction she was heading, insinuating that the off duty police officer should follow her. He did. “And, by the way, you're no longer a foster parent applicant... or, well, you never were. I pushed through an emergency guardianship for you over the minor John Doe. Once we see where this goes, we can pursue a more formal custody arrangement... if that's what is necessary. In the meantime, are you sure this is what you want?”  
  
Felicity paused. “What do you mean?”  
  
Lance rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. “Given what you do...?”  
  
Interrupting him, Felicity spoke rapidly while tossing even more food into her cart. Cereals, oatmeal, and granola bars were piled on like it was the 80's and carbs were thought to be the base of any well balanced diet. “What I do,” she repeated, raising her voice in emphasis. “I'm running for deputy mayor. Granted, that's a high pressure, big commitment job, but, if you're implying that I can't help govern this city _and_ take care of a child, Captain Lance....” His gaze was wide, for he didn't know how to respond, so she just kept talking, steamrolling over him, filling the uncomfortable silence with the first things that popped into her mind, and hoping that she was doing a good enough job of distracting both him and anyone else who might have heard his less than tech-support-to-a-secret-hero-worthy-stealth query. “As for my job in the interim, I work at Queen Consolidated... like so many other people in Starling. Sure, it's for a pompous ass who doesn't realize just how uncouth and inappropriate belt buckle tech is given the ramifications that come with a man... fondling his belt buckle, but, if I can survive Isabel....”  
  
“Wait,” this time it was Lance who cut her off. “What does a man's belt buckle have to do with anything?”  
  
Quirking a pointed brow, grinning impishly, and dropping her gaze down to where the cop himself was standing with his hands spread on his waist along his belt, she answered cheekily, “every time a guy touches his belt buckle, he's thinking about sex, Captain Lance.”  
  
Oh, how the tables had turned.... Gleefully, Felicity watched as Lance first blanched and then flushed a dangerously telling red, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet several times before he was the one moving them forward and then around to the next aisle. “So, uh, Palmer. I haven't met him yet. You...? You're not a fan?”  
  
“Let's just say that I'm looking forward to taking office.”  
  
“I'm sure Oliver feels the same way.”  
  
Hands dropping from her cart and down to her hips, Felicity demanded, “what's that supposed to mean?”  
  
Captain Lance refused to look at her as he spoke. Instead, he pretended to be busy studying the various salad dressing options in front of them. And for what – his jerky? “It's just that no guy wants his girlfriend working for someone who... has a fascination with his belt buckle around her.”  
  
Through gritted teeth, she said, “for the last time, Oliver and I are not dating.” While she knew such conclusions bothered her so much because of the fact that they weren't true when they should have been, Lance didn't need to know that.   
  
“He got his nanny to take care of your kid.”  
  
“Anne Shirley is not my kid; he's my ward. Raisa was not Oliver's nanny; she was the Queen's head housekeeper. And your argument holds absolutely no validity.”  
  
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”  
  
“That's not the quote,” she snapped, only realizing after her comment how inane it was.   
  
“And you just brought a child into Oliver Queens' life, and he didn't run screaming for the hills,” Captain Lance challenged, ignoring her petty argument. “In fact, he's _helping_ you with the boy. Maybe you're not dating, but you sure as hell act like it. I see it. The newspapers see it. And so will the kid, too.” Before she could protest, he continued, “by the way, the blood tests you took came back. The boy's not related to you.” With a tip of a non-existent hat, grin, and a slight bow, Lance said, “have a lovely evening, Miss Smoak,” before disappearing around the corner and leaving Felicity with more on her mind than what was in her cart... and that was a lot.   
  


 


	7. FF#18: Deputy Mommy - Part Seven

**FF#18: Deputy Mommy – Part Seven**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #18: Free Fall**

Deputy Mommy.  
  
She was the second most powerful and influential person in Starling City – and that wasn't her inner narcissist talking; that's where she fell in the political pecking order, but the press had little interest (as in zilch) in her platforms (unless they were her shoes) or her agenda (unless it involved her actual schedule, personally speaking). They were fascinated by her life, digging up all the less than sordid details and making them seem like the plot-line for the next season of _House of Cards_. The genius, child prodigy daughter of a Vegas cocktail waitress who put herself through college on scholarships, rose through the ranks of Queen Consolidated faster than any other non-executive – i.e. owner or owner's bedmate – ever had, and who was now balancing the mayor's office with motherhood, she was the current muse for every reporter, editor, and gossip columnist in Starling.   
  
They lauded her success, applauded her decision to become a single, foster mother, and dissected her every fashion decision. For now, she was a media darling. They loved her. While Felicity had no doubt that the praise would only last for so long – eventually, both press and the citizens they wrote for would get bored with supporting her and would turn to bashing her, for now, it was a welcome if not befuddling experience. She could do without the _Deputy Mommy_ moniker, believing that it trivialized not only her position in the government but also her role in OJ's life, but it served as a distraction, taking the attention away from Oliver which helped all of them.   
  
Instead of speculating on why the city's new mayor still insisted upon living in his old, abandoned nightclub, there were features written on her neighborhood, highlighting how it was a great place for a young family to reside. Rather than noticing that, occasionally, Oliver sported a strange bruise or limped off the stage after giving a speech, they noticed that she was an expert at shopping and dressing on a budget and that she personally delivered her foster son's lunch to his school when he forget it at home or left it behind in the car. Plus, the newspapers wrote editorials, demanding that other successful singles take such an active and hands on interest in their community, the local television channel did an in depth report on the city's social work system, and money was pouring into all the local orphanages. For that, Felicity could put up with the nonsensical interest into her private life.  
  
Really, it just wasn't that spectacular... well, the parts that the public were aware of. She got up in the morning, showered, made breakfast, and got the two of them ready for school and work respectively. If they were running late, Roy dropped OJ off at school before driving her into the office. She worked until 5:00 when OJ's after school activities were over, and then she and Roy drove back to the school to pick the little boy up. They went home, did homework together while she cooked dinner, and then it was bath time, story time, and then bedtime. Sometimes, she had to go out for evening events, and, when that was the case, Raisa would watch OJ. Sometimes, they babysat Sara so that Diggle and Lyla could still pretend that their lives meant more than just being parents to a newborn.  
  
Or, at least, that's what she allowed everyone to believe what their lives were like.  
  
In all actuality, after Roy dropped them off in the evening, Felicity and OJ sneaked out the back, through the alley, and met up with Roy on the next street over, so he could drive them to the Foundry, and it was there where their lives went from sliced, white bread to pumpernickel. Maybe the team still met up and worked out of the same place, but nothing else was the same about Verdant's basement. As soon as OJ had come into her life, the space had undergone a massive remodeling thanks to her bank account, redesign, and orders. And Diggle's arm muscles.   
  
There were rooms now – separate spaces for separate, _secret_ activities. When you first came down the stairs, you stepped into a living space. It was small and cramped, because it wasn't used, but she had insisted that OJ at least believe that Oliver could use the basement as the home they pretended it was. As an off-shoot of that apartment, they had an office where the team worked out of, where OJ did his homework, and ate his meals, and oftentimes fell asleep as he waited for them to finally go home at night. He didn't see the other rooms – rooms where Oliver made his arrows, where Digg stored and cleaned his weapons, where Roy and Oliver sparred. They never came into the office dressed in their gear, and she never treated even the smallest wound in front of OJ.   
  
To be candid, Felicity hated that so much of their time together was now lost due to the necessity of keeping it separate from the little boy who had unexpectedly entered her life. She still didn't know who he was. She only called him OJ because of Stupid Roy. He had been curious about all the orphan names she used to refer to the still nameless child, so he had done something dangerous and used a computer, looking it up for himself. There – no doubt on wikipedia, the halfwit, he had discovered that Oliver Twist was an orphan as well. Finding it amusing that _her son_ was an orphan and that there was a famous orphan with the same name as _her partner_ – the little snot had perverted the once special way she referred to her connection with Oliver, Roy started to call the kid Oliver Jr, shortening it to OJ, and lamenting the fact that Junior was spelled with a J and not a G, because he really wanted to refer to her foster kid as an OG. Frankly, Felicity was just shocked that Roy knew how to spell Junior... and she made sure she pointed that astonishment out to him. Multiple times.   
  
So, anyway, the basement was now a maze of different rooms, many of which she and OJ never spent time in, and, consequently, despite spending just as much time in the basement as Oliver, John, and Roy, it sometimes felt to Felicity like she wasn't as much a member of the team anymore. Still, though, she didn't regret her decision to embrace OJ, to bring him into her life when he was unceremoniously brought to her doorstep. She had no idea who he was, or why she was connected to him, or what his sudden appearance in her life meant, but it did mean something. He meant something. And she didn't know where their future would lead them – if his family would return, if they ever would find out who he was, or how long he would be a part of her life, but Felicity would be lying to herself if she didn't admit, despite the sacrifices, she liked being OJ's _deputy mommy_.   
  
“Whatcha doin'?”  
  
The kid sidled up to her, working his way, somehow, onto her lap. He had been doing that now for several weeks, but it still took Felicity by surprise. She wasn't used to such... closeness, especially not with a child. Despite this, though, she liked that OJ felt comfortable enough around her that he wanted to be close to her, and it was a big relief that, despite not being willing to talk about his old life, or who his parents were, or what his name was, he was now actually talking to her.  
  
“Research.”  
  
“What kind of research?”  
  
She just sort of wished that the kid wasn't quite as inquisitive as he was. Did all children ask so many questions, or was it just karma coming around to bite her where, these days, only Vicky Secret went? “You know how I'm the mayor, right?” Oliver and Roy were out patrolling... whatever that meant since she was absolutely forbidden from stepping foot out into the field now, and Diggle was at home with his family (Sara was colicky – again, whatever that meant), so she could get away with a little bit of exaggeration. Besides, Oliver might have been the head cheese, billing-wise, but she put forth the lion's share of the ideas. “Well, mayors help police officers, so, right now, I'm researching bad guys – finding them, getting all the information I can gather on them, and then coming up with a plan to take them down.”  
  
“To put them in jail?”  
  
“Right,” Felicity complimented, making OJ giggle when she accompanied her praise of his comprehension skills with a tap to the nose. While she was doing everything she could to shield him from the truth of her nighttime activities, she also wasn't prepared to lie to him either. Someday, she didn't want OJ to hate her because she wasn't honest with him... not that there would necessarily be a _someday_ for them but just in case. “Did you finish your homework?” While yawning, OJ nodded – his little head burrowing into her side with the movement. “What about your assignment notebook? I haven't signed it yet.”  
  
“Ollie did,” he told her. She never called Oliver that – neither did Roy nor Diggle, yet, somehow, OJ had decided upon the childhood nickname that only Thea, whom OJ had never met, and Laurel, whom Felicity had instinctively tried to shield OJ from (she still didn't understand that), still used.  
  
“Of course he did,” Felicity commented underneath her breath. It wasn't that she was bothered by Oliver taking an active role in OJ's life; she was just still taken aback by how willing he was to embrace and even encourage her unexplainable desire to take care of this little boy. But Oliver was great with OJ, and OJ idolized him, following him around and mimicking him. Perhaps that was really why Roy insisted upon referring to the kid as OJ. Shaking away her thoughts, Felicity refocused her attention upon the child curled up in her arms. He was wearing his pajamas. “Are you ready for bed, then? Do you want me to tuck you in?”  
  
“Not yet,” OJ answered. “I'm not sleepy.” His eyes were already drooped closed. “Want to stay with you.”  
  
And Felicity couldn't hide from the truth any longer – not when it was practically gift wrapped and presented to her. She wanted OJ to stay with her, too. Curling her left arm around the slumbering boy, she pulled him just that much closer against her, setting to work with just the one, free hand – something she had become quite proficient at since OJ had come into her life. But her mind wasn't on her work... where it should have been. Instead, it was on a blonde haired, brown eyed child and the fact that, in just a few short months, she had fallen in love.   
  
Man, was she a sucker for boys named Oliver. 


	8. FF#19: Deputy Mommy - Part Eight

**FF#19: Deputy Mommy – Part Eight**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #19: That Night**

“I saw you on TV before.”  
  
Screwing up her face in confusion, Felicity glanced at the half pint beside her. They were sitting side by side on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. To account for OJ's less than impressive length, she had long since pushed the coffee table practically up against her sofa, for this was a routine of theirs, of sorts. They'd sit together, and watch television, and eat cookies – Raisa's cookies, which were homemade and all-natural and how Felicity justified the obsessive-compulsive snack. Plus, they dipped them in milk – usually chocolate, so yay calcium and vitamin D. Through a mouthful of chocolate-chocolate chip, she said, “but I'm on TV all the time.”  
  
“Not now,” OJ giggled. He did that a lot – giggled at things that only he found funny. Felicity found it endearing, charming, and adorable – cute even, but OJ had suddenly developed a disliking of that word. “Then,” he clarified.  
  
Yes, because that helped _so much_. “Then when?” And since when had her communication skills taken a nosedive into Roy territory?  
  
OJ shrugged, making a grab for another cookie, but he had already had three, so Felicity snatched the plate away before he could get his greedy, grubby little hands on another one. Instead, he took a sip of his milk. After swallowing, he turned to look at her and answered, “before.”  
  
“Before... I became deputy mayor?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” he replied, a grin lifting the corners of his chocolate stained mouth. The move showed off the space where he had lost a tooth the week before. Felicity had slipped a dollar under his pillow while he was sleeping, only to wake up and find that her dollar had been replaced with the remote control car OJ had been asking for. Apparently, Oliver now used his ninja skills to shame her Toothfairy abilities. “But I mean before _before_.  
  
She was so confused. “Before _before_ what,” she pressed the child beside her. Felicity still wasn't sure how old OJ was. Despite now talking even more than she did – an impressive feat, he still absolutely refused to tell them anything about his life from before he came to live with her.  
  
Oh!  
  
Swallowing past the lump that had suddenly taken residence in her throat, she managed to squeak out the query, “do you mean from before... with your family?”  
  
“My mom,” OJ confirmed, nodding and becoming somewhat pensive. “I never had a dad. Mom said he died. Then, she said he was as good as dead... whatever that meant.”  
  
Felicity had no idea, and, while she wanted to know, she wasn't sure how to go about asking. “So, you saw me on TV before you met me,” she returned them to their former conversation.  
  
“Yeah. I was supposed to be in bed. Mom was watching TV. But I couldn't sleep, so I snuck out of my room....”  
  
“Sneaked,” she corrected him. When he screwed his face up in disbelief, Felicity rolled her eyes. “I know, it sounds ridiculous, but that's the English language for you. Binary makes so much more sense.”  
  
“Anyway,” OJ continued, shrugging off her tangent. “Mom didn't see me, so I saw what she was watching on TV.”  
  
It didn't matter why OJ was now living with her, there was no reason in the world good enough to make her like or respect his mother, but that didn't mean that she couldn't sympathize with the other woman over having a child that absolutely refused to stay in his bed. On most nights, OJ fell asleep at the Foundry. So, after Roy dropped them back off, she'd carry him into bed before either catching up on her shows or reading. More often than not, OJ would wake up and come find her, crawling onto the couch beside her (for cookie time) or squirming his way into her bed. Felicity knew it wasn't a good habit to encourage, but she couldn't help but feel that it had something to do with OJ's abandonment fears, and she just couldn't deny him the reassurance that, no matter what, she wasn't going anywhere.  
  
And maybe she needed the reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere either.  
  
Prompting him to divulge more, she asked, “why was I on TV?”  
  
“I don't know,” OJ said, quirking his mouth and face in bewilderment – his eyes widening almost comically so. “They said you were Ollie's girlfriend, that you used to work for him, and that they were surprised you were sticking around because he lost all his money.” For a child who couldn't remember to toss his dirty laundry in the hamper, OJ certainly could recall a news report from more than six months before in stunning detail. Kids were weird. “Did Ollie used to be rich?”  
  
That sentence wasn't OJ's strongest, but she let it go, focusing, instead, upon the content of the question. Sure, it was plebeian to talk about another person's former wealth, but she was from Vegas. (She used that excuse to get away with a lot of things.) “We're talking Daddy Warbucks.” The funny thing was that Daddy Warbucks' actual name was Oliver as well – Lieutenant General Sir Oliver 'Daddy' Warbucks, but she was going to keep that little nugget of trivia to herself. Oliver never needed to know about it. Neither did Roy.  
  
OJ, on the other hand, knew the reference, because Felicity had taken to reading him books and watching movies with him that featured a main character who was both a child and an orphan. She hoped that it would show OJ that he wasn't alone and that, just because his family abandoned him, he could still be happy, wanted, and loved. So, when she said that Oliver had once been Daddy Warbucks rich, he giggled once more. “What happened?”  
  
She stood up, gathering their now only half filled plate of cookies and empty glasses, taking them to the kitchen as she continued to talk. “An evil woman tricked him and stole all of his money.” That was an overly simplified version of the events that had transpired because of Slade and Isabel, but it was still a variation of the truth, so Felicity went with it.  
  
She could hear OJ's feet pattering behind her, so she wasn't surprised when he next asked, “is that why his house doesn't have any windows,” the words littered and stretched out with not just one but two yawns.  
  
Felicity chuckled at the inquiry, making a mental note to share it with Digg. He'd appreciate the humor. In fact, she often found herself sharing parenting stories with her friend. Despite the fact that Sara wasn't even crawling yet – let alone talking... and talking quite fluently... like OJ, parents just seemed to speak a universal language, and, whether her name was on OJ's birth certificate or not – not that she would know, because she'd never seen his birth certificate, she was now a mother. In fact, Felicity was starting to look into what she would have to do in order to make her role in OJ's life permanent. Finally returning her attention to the little boy who was now scowling as he waited for her response, she said, “that's one of the reasons.” She knew that OJ would just ask for the others... which were reasons she couldn't exactly share with him, so, instead of giving him the chance to voice such a query, she posed one of her own. “So, then, what happened with your mom... when you saw me on TV?”  
  
As OJ talked, she rinsed out their cups, put them in the dishwasher, and placed some saran-wrap around their leftover cookies. “She got angry.”  
  
“Because you weren't in bed?”  
  
“No, she never saw me.”  
  
Intrigued by his story and wanting to see his face as he told it to her, Felicity spun around, leaning back against the countertop. OJ had climbed up onto a stool – his stool, the one he had used the very first morning they met and the same stool he had used ever since. The child certainly was a creature of habit. “So, then, why was she mad?”  
  
He propped an elbow on top of the island, resting his chin upon a small, fisted hand. “I don't know. You and Ollie were on TV, and she was laughing... only it wasn't a funny laugh; it was an ugly one. And she was crying, too. I saw her wipe her tears away. I wanted to know what was wrong – why she was sad, but I didn't want to get into trouble.”  
  
“For being awake?”  
  
“Yeah. And for bugging her. Mom didn't like it when I did that.”  
  
Felicity did not like that answer. In fact, it made her irate, but, luckily, OJ didn't seem to notice, for he was too lost in his recollections. She didn't like to display her darker emotions in front of OJ, because he was oftentimes bothered by them. Now, she finally knew why. “Did she say that you bugged her a lot?”  
  
“Uh huh,” OJ responded, yawning again. Realizing that, despite wanting to continue their conversation and knowing that it was something that OJ needed – to get these worries and fears of the past off his chest, they didn't need to remain in the kitchen while doing so, Felicity crossed to him, lifting OJ into her arms, and carried him towards his room while he wrapped his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. Oliver, John, and Roy all said that he was too big for Felicity to carry around, but they didn't understand, and she was fine. “She said I wasn't worth it.”  
  
“Worth what?”  
  
“Two million dollars.”  
  
She had been expecting OJ to say all the work, all the time, or even all of the stretch marks – not two million dollars. However, she couldn't very well say that to him. After all, who wanted to explain stretch marks – or their origins – to an eight (they were still going with that age) year old? So, instead, she told him, “that's because you're worth two hundred billion trillion dollars,” as she playfully dropped him onto his bed, automatically reaching down for the blankets. As Felicity tucked them around the little boy she now considered her own, she whispered, “that's because you're priceless.”  
  
OJ grinned widely, and Felicity leaned further down to plant a kiss on his forehead, both of his chubby cheeks, and then on the tip of his nose. It was their routine. “I'll see you in the morning.”  
  
“Hmm... morning,” OJ agreed, already half asleep. “Love you, Felicity.”  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
As she flipped off the lights, she cursed underneath her breath. “Frack. I should've had him brush his teeth again.”  
  
Oh well. No parent was perfect, especially not OJ's birth mother – whose identity was now the ultimate _two million dollar_ question.


	9. FF#20: Deputy Mommy - Part Nine

**FF#20: Deputy Mommy – Part Nine**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #20: Truth or Dare**

She was dating Oliver Queen.   
  
She, Felicity Smoak – mother of one little boy and keeper of four, was Oliver Queen's girlfriend.   
  
It was hard to believe just how much their lives had changed in nine months... which was just a coincidence, because she'd still never been pregnant and had never given birth, despite being a mother. It had just been that long since OJ had come into her world. In that time, not only had Felicity become a mom, but she'd also become a girlfriend after what she had assumed was not so much a breakup but an acceptance of something that, despite its promise, simply would never be given a chance. She knew that Oliver being a part of her life as more than just her friend, partner, and fellow politician wasn't because of OJ, but sometimes it felt like her son was the reason nonetheless.   
  
And whether it was official or not, OJ was most definitely her son.   
  
After OJ came to her and Sara died, Oliver had gone from the man who believed he could be nothing more than his own myth to someone who was embracing life at its fullest. For months, she had watched him make a concerted effort to change, to conquer his fears of being his own worst enemy. It was like having a child around forced him to realize his own innocence. In OJ, he came to know a beautiful, mischievous, smart kid who lost everyone he loved through no fault of his own.   
  
And OJ was a child you couldn't help but want to be around... which made understanding his mother's decision to abandon him just that much more difficult for Felicity. But she had made peace with OJ's birth mother, because, in her gratitude for having been given the gift of motherhood, she had forgiven OJ's mom for hurting him. And Oliver seemed to love the little guy just as much as she did. Felicity still wasn't sure if Oliver had claimed OJ as his own or if OJ had claimed Oliver, but, either way, the two of them were close, and, in loving a child, Oliver could no longer hold onto his fear of loving her.  
  
So, they were together. Sort of. There were no Italian dinners... unless pizza counted. They didn't attend events together, and they didn't go to the movies, and they didn't have sleepovers. In fact, somehow, they had managed to keep the changes to their relationship a secret – not because they were ashamed of it and not because Oliver was afraid of what would happen once the world realized how important she was to him but because there was a little boy to consider – a little boy who loved them both, and, if they eventually went their separate ways and didn't find their happily ever after with one another, Felicity was determined that OJ would still be able to love them both without there being any awkwardness for any of them.   
  
With that said, though, there were kisses. And more than kisses. She and Oliver were just... careful. In more ways than one. When they were with OJ, they kept things platonic and focused on him; when he was in bed and she and Oliver were alone, then their interactions became a little less PG and a little more... well, more. Just thinking about everything that word – more – encompassed, Felicity found her toes curling into the hard, unforgiving tile of her kitchen floor as she waited impatiently for their popcorn to finish its dance with her microwave. Oliver and OJ were propped up in her bed, the DVD she had queued up paused as she gathered up their snacks. It was a rare night off – Oliver having declared it Ladies' night, so she was allowed to choose what they watched, but, really, he was still recovering from his injuries after yet another bout with a psychopath, and it wasn't like there weren't enough superheroes in Starling to keep the streets safe while Oliver took a much needed break. That was just another reason why he was allowing himself the chance to be happy, to _live_.  
  
The microwave beeped, making Felicity jump. With jittery fingers because the bag was so hot, she removed the popcorn and dumped it into a bowl, tucking the snack under one elbow and against her left side while grabbing three bottles of water with her other hand. She should have just made two trips, but Felicity was eager to return to half of her men. Felicity had selected _Gilmore Girls_ – the pop culture oblivious Oliver not realizing that it was a television show rather than a movie, and she couldn't wait to see his reaction when he realized Ladies' Night would actually be lasting for several weeks as they made their way through seven seasons. Plus, he was going to hate Lorelei, so that would be fun, too.  
  
Making her way through the living room and then down the hallway, Felicity approached her bedroom but wasn't actually paying attention to what was going on around her, what was being said. Distantly, she could hear Oliver and OJ talking, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Those two were as thick as thieves. And she had no doubt that they were equally as distracted, because her bare feet were silent against the hardwood floors – the late spring night warm enough that socks were unnecessary, and they would be far more interested in their boy-talk than they were the popcorn she had been making.   
  
“So, are you and Felicity going to get married?” Felicity was so caught off guard by OJ's question, she tripped over her own two feet, and her left shoulder landed harshly against the wall, causing popcorn to spill all over the floor. She knelt down under the pretense of picking up the fallen kernels, but, really, she just wanted to stay as far away from OJ's question as she possibly could. Oliver could take one for the team.  
  
“Why would you ask me that, buddy?” Oliver answered a question with a question. It was a classic deflection. Felicity approved.   
  
“Because you're having babies.”  
  
 _What?!  
  
_ “What?!”  
  
Apparently, she and Oliver were sharing more than just spit these days, because his astonished voice said the exact same thing she had just been thinking. She was also pretty sure that he looked over towards her open bedroom door... as if searching for her, hoping that she was about to return so she could field OJ's inquiries, so Felicity very carefully, very quietly slid back on her knees, putting even more distance between her and the awkwardness that had become Ladies' Night.   
  
“We're not....” Changing tactics, Oliver asked, “why would you think that Felicity and I are having babies?”  
  
“Because Roy said so.”  
  
Oh, she was going to kill Roy – slowly and painfully... with a bobby pin. And he was going to like it.   
  
“What exactly,” Oliver's voice had a sudden edge to it, and Felicity smirked. Her bobby pin was safe; Oliver would handle the hit for her. “Did Roy say to you, OJ?”  
  
“Well, he said that Felicity's your girlfriend.” She was his girlfriend... not that Roy was supposed to know that, but girlfriend and babies were several lightyears apart. “I said 'duh,' because she's a girl, and she's your friend, but Roy said it was different. I asked him how, and he said because the two of you kiss.” She still didn't see how this led to baby making... or why Roy had implied to her very impressionable child that she and Oliver were making babies. “But then I said that I kiss Felicity, because she's my new mom, but Roy said that was different, too.” Felicity didn't even get to savor hearing OJ call her his mom for the first time before Roy was ruining that moment for her as well. “So, I asked him how that was different, and he said because you and Felicity were going to make it rain.” Oh, for crying out loud.... That was it. Roy was never spending any time alone with her kid again. “I asked him 'rain what,' and Roy said babies. I didn't realize babies fell from the sky. Don't they get hurt when they land, or do people always catch them? And what about colds? Felicity says that I'm not supposed to go outside when it's raining without my boots, coat, and hat on, so that I don't get a cold, so then why aren't babies all sick when their parents catch them? And what if you catch the wrong baby? Is that what happened to me; is that why my old mom gave me to Felicity, because she found out that Felicity was my real mom? Felicity and I have the same hair color, but my old mom had brown hair. My eyes don't look like hers, though. They're kind of like Digg's, so that does that mean...?”  
  
Thankfully, Oliver _finally_ chose to interrupt OJ, because Felicity knew, once he got on a roll, he could ask questions until he exhausted himself and fell asleep. “OJ, I'm about to tell you something really important, okay, so I need you to listen carefully and pay attention.” There was a pause during which she assumed OJ was nodding his agreement. “Roy is an idiot.” Felicity had to lift a hand to cover her mouth, stifling her laughter so that OJ and especially Oliver didn't hear her. “Never, _ever_ listen to him.”  
  
“But what about....”  
  
Cutting OJ off, Oliver continued, “Felicity is my girlfriend, and I do kiss her, and it is different, because she's not my mom, but babies don't fall from the sky.” Before OJ could ask where babies did come from, Oliver distracted him by saying, “and I don't know if Felicity and I will get married. Maybe. Someday. But not now.” Tacking on one last thought, Oliver added, “and we're not having babies either. Not for a long time.”  
  
The bedroom fell silent for several moments, but Felicity didn't stand up; she didn't dare move, because she knew that OJ was not finished with the conversation – not that easily. Eventually, he told Oliver, “well, I think you should get married, so, then, you could be my dad. I've never had a dad before.”  
  
“I can... I can still be your dad without marrying your mom, without marrying Felicity,” Oliver offered, shocking Felicity, though she was sure that the words shocked no one more than they did Oliver. “If you want me to be.”  
  
Rather than agreeing to the very thing that he said himself that he wanted, OJ wondered, “but who would I tell people my dad was – Ollie or The Arrow?”  
  
And the surprises just kept coming! Thank goodness, she was already sitting down on the floor. Otherwise, Felicity was pretty sure she would have fallen. Or fainted. She had no idea how Oliver was still conscious.   
  
“You know... that I'm The Arrow?”  
  
“Sure,” OJ replied. Felicity could hear the obvious shrug in her little boy's words. “I've seen your picture on the news, and that's what they call you when you're wearing the green mask – The Arrow. Why do you wear a mask? That's silly. You're only supposed to wear masks on Halloween. And why do you have two names? Why don't they just call you Oliver Queen like they do when you're at work with Felicity?”  
  
“I... you say Ollie. Or Oliver. Nobody... knows that I'm The Arrow – just your mom, and Digg, and Roy, and now you. Just the family know that.”  
  
But the fact that Oliver was indeed The Arrow was old news already for OJ, because he had moved onto something else, though Felicity was pretty sure she and Oliver would be stuck on that little bombshell for a long time to come. “So, since you have two names, can I have two names, too?”  
  
“Like... a secret nickname as well?”  
  
“No,” OJ chuckled, oblivious to the turmoil Oliver was in. “Like... can I still be me _and_ OJ? I heard Felicity talking, and she wants to adopt me, but she can't do that without my real name, right? But I like being OJ, because it's like you, and you're my dad now, right?”  
  
Apparently, there were no secrets in the Smoak household. Felicity had been adamant that OJ not know that she was trying to adopt him until everything went through. She didn't want to get his hopes up only for something not to work out. He had already been hurt enough by his birth mother. She wasn't going to continue that pattern of poor parenting. However, biologically her child or not, OJ certainly shared her curiosity _and_ ability to satisfy that curiosity.   
  
“Right,” Oliver slowly, quietly agreed.  
  
Finally deciding to take pity on him and wanting to be there with OJ when he finally told them who he was, Felicity stood up, leaving the popcorn and the water behind as she walked into her bedroom. Without preamble, she asked, “does this mean you're ready to tell me your real name, OJ?” She had never once pressured the little boy for information; she had wanted him to feel comfortable enough, safe enough, with her to broach the conversation without prompting.   
  
Instead of answering right away, however, OJ held his arms out, insinuating that he wanted Felicity to hold him. She immediately crossed the room, settling onto the bed so that OJ could crawl into her lap – one arm wrapping around the little boy, the other reaching over to lace her fingers through one of Oliver's hands. With a squeeze to both of her guys, she waited, holding her breath.   
  
OJ twisted around so that he was facing her, smiled, and said it so calmly it was as though she should have known it all along. “My name's Connor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone,
> 
> As you've probably noticed, there is only one part remaining to this little ficlet now, and I wanted to give you an update as to what will be posted next. Though I've been horribly remiss in updating my other ficlet - Love Me Like I'm Not Made of Stone, I DO plan on finishing it. So far, I've written two of the remaining three chapters, so I'll start sharing those soon. I also have several flash fic one shots and another one shot that got so out of hand that it will now be a multiple post ficlet. I also have plans to write one last one shot to conclude the Devil series, though I'm not sure when that will happen. As for my next major fic, it's all planned out. And it's Bratva... esque. Sort of. Kind of. With a twist? You'll see. (Plus, I'm penning a Sons of Anarchy/Jax and Tara ficlet right now, too, if you happen to read my work for that fandom as well.) With this addressed, I hope everyone enjoyed this penultimate chapter of Deputy Mommy. 
> 
> Toodles!  
> ~Charlynn~
> 
> P.S. No, I haven't forgotten about the sequel to The First Time. I have many ideas and even started to outline it a while ago, but I'm... not sure about my plans, maybe? I think I'm stuck on format and length, but it's still in the back of my mind; I'm still thinking about it.


	10. FF#21: Deputy Mommy - Part Ten

**FF#21: Deputy Mommy – Part Ten**

 

**Flash Fic Prompt #21: Three Reasons**

“Holy shit!”  
  
Felicity didn't even look up from her computer station; she just automatically, instinctively, reprimanded. “Auditory learner.” Most mothers would call out 'little ears' if someone swore in front of their child, but Connor heard everything... and he retained it, too. So, she called it like she saw it, warning the offender that her son would hear, remember, and reuse everything he heard.   
  
From across the room, she heard said son giggle. “Roy said a bad word.” It didn't matter how many times Roy swore, Connor still reacted in the same way. Despite Roy's age and the fact that, technically, he was another adult in Connor's life, their relationship was very much that of two brothers, close in age. They bickered, and they tried to get each other in trouble. They competed over everything, but no one else could harass them but each other. If that happened, then they would team up, and it would be Roy and Connor against the world. It both amused and infuriated Felicity depending upon whether or not she was on the receiving end of their antics.   
  
“Holy _fucking_ shit.”  
  
This time, she looked up, glaring at the young man. “Roy!,” Felicity exclaimed in shock and perturbation. He pushed her limits and boundaries on a daily basis, but he usually didn't flagrantly cross them.   
  
And she wasn't the only one irked by his behavior. Oliver, usually the more easy going of the two of them, spoke up as well. “That's enough. What's wrong with you?”  
  
Roy never apologized; he never turned to Connor and told him that he was wrong and that Connor shouldn't mimic him. Instead, she watched as Roy just... stared straight ahead, his wide gaze – she wasn't sure if he was terrified or flabbergasted – locked on Oliver and Connor where they were sitting side by side, working on the little boy's homework. School had just started up again, Connor was now in the third grade – they now knew his age and birthdate (which was coming up soon, so he'd be turning nine) and, luckily, he had been put in the correct grade the year before when he came to live with her, and it surprised no one more than Felicity how calm and patient Oliver was when it came to dealing with her – their – less than book-enthusiastic son.   
  
“He's... he's your....” Roy's eyes skittered away from Oliver and Connor, jumping around the office where they were all working on their various tasks, moving from Felicity, to Digg, and then back to Oliver in a jerky triangle. He seemed to be pleading for somebody to understand, to agree with him, but, frankly, Felicity had no idea what he was even trying to say. Finally, Roy just gave up, his shoulders slumping as he gasped, “he's your son.”  
  
No one reacted; no one responded. After all, what could they say? It had been months since Connor asked Oliver to be his dad. It was old news. Nothing revelatory about Roy's proclamation – certainly nothing worthy of his outbursts. Yet, something was going on with the younger man. Roy had his moments. He was moody, and prickly, and Thea was still a button for him, but he wasn't prone to overreaction. In fact, he purposefully kept a tight leash upon his emotions. Felicity always assumed that control was a combination of the fact that Roy felt too much and was afraid to let those emotions out and a lingering fear after his experience with the mirakuru. He could be boisterous and petulant with Connor, but this wasn't that.   
  
Unexpected laughter broke the stillness of the otherwise silent basement. “Of course I'm his son,” Connor was the first to respond. He was amused by Roy's sudden and strange mood. “Because he's my dad.”  
  
“Yeah. I know. I _really_ know,” Roy emphasized. Felicity wasn't sure if he had blinked since he first swore.   
  
But Connor kept going, talking to Roy like he was an idiot (which he was, Felicity contended), like he had hit his head and was concussed (which, given what they did, wasn't entirely impossible). “And Felicity's my mom, Digg's my uncle, and you're... well, Mom says you're a pest, and Dad says you're a stray... with fleas.”  
  
The teasing wasn't anything new. In fact, it was actually pretty tame – cleaned up and sanitized for Connor, but it was enough that it should have spurred Roy into reaction. He didn't banter back, though. Rather, with awe still tinging his voice, he murmured, “you're... exactly alike. Like... your movements, and mannerisms, and... facial expressions. You're like... his mini-me.”  
  
“Nature versus nurture,” Diggle supplied. He had long since gone back to the scouting reports he was reading in preparation for a mission, but that didn't mean he wasn't able to still respond to Roy's sudden lunacy. Like the badass he was, John could multitask. He was a man after Felicity's admiration.   
  
“Or nurture _and_ nature,” Roy argued, apparently not satisfied with Digg's dismissal. “It's not just how he acts. The kid looks like him, too.”  
  
“All kids look like everybody and nobody at the same time,” Felicity entered the fray, standing up and walking towards the younger man. While he could annoy her like no one else, Roy was also her friend, and she was starting to worry about him. She had made light of the idea of him being hurt earlier, but, now, she was wondering if perhaps something was really wrong. “It's because their features are still developing, their bones growing, shifting. Plus, they both have blonde hair, and Connor has been insisting lately that his be cut like Oliver's.”  
  
Roy turned to her, spinning around on his stool so that he could face her. “So, then, how do you explain what that bitch said about his father?”  
  
“Roy!” A person would have to be deaf to miss the lurking threat underneath Oliver's censure. “Cool down. Go take a walk, spar. Go patrol if you have to. I don't care, but you need to stop.”  
  
Maybe they all shared Roy's opinion about Connor's birth mother, but they never voiced such thoughts out loud. No matter what, she was still the woman who gave Felicity's son life. He had memories of her – both good and bad, and she never wanted to influence either his opinion of his birth mother or warp those memories in anyway.   
  
“No, I'm sorry,” Roy apologized to Oliver, but he was already standing up. He was already walking towards Felicity, his hands out in supplication. He wanted her to believe him; he wanted her to understand. “I'm not trying to upset the little dude or... or make you mad, but this is important. I can't just... let this go.”  
  
Taking pity on him, Felicity asked, “what are you trying to say, Roy? Just... keep it clean, okay? If you can do that, I'll listen; I'll hear you out.”  
  
He nodded – agreeing, swallowing thickly and then taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “When you first told me what Connor said about his mother, I just thought... what a bitter woman, you know? But I was just sitting here, watching the two of them together, and....” Shaking his head to regather himself, Roy changed tactics. “She said that his father died, and then she told him that his father was as good as dead. That wasn't angry ranting; that was the only way a mother could explain to a child that his father had come back from the dead but had no idea he even existed, so it wasn't some great miracle that would bring him into their lives.”  
  
Gently, Felicity said, “Roy, you have to admit that's a stretch... and not my kind of stretching but Sting's.”  
  
“There's more,” he contended.  
  
“Roy,” she started, tried once again, but he cut her off.  
  
“No, you said you'd hear me out, so listen. I said there's more, and there's more. I realize that none of this on its own is that damning, but, when you put it all together....”  
  
“Fine,” Felicity sighed, twisting around to grab her chair and tow it towards where she was standing. After sitting down, she crossed her arms over her chest, prepared to listen until Roy had said his peace. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Digg had put his work aside and was watching them closely, and Oliver and Connor were still sitting side by side – pensive looks wrinkling their brows, heads tilted at identical angles towards their right shoulders. The sheer similarity of their stances, of their expressions, made Felicity pause, but then Roy was talking once again, so she turned back to give him all of her attention.  
  
“So, not only do they look and act alike, and Oliver's past matches the vague explanation the kid received about why his father wasn't around, but she also used to tell him that he wasn't worth it – worth two million dollars. That's both really random and really specific at the same time. And I looked it up. Kids are ridiculously expensive. I know I'm never having one. But they don't cost two million bucks to raise either. So, what was his birth mother talking about when she said that? It's been bothering me for a while now, but then I started thinking about who Oliver is... or, at least, was. Two million for the Queens ten years ago? That would have been chump change. And Moira wouldn't have had any qualms about paying some chick off if she came to them and said that Oliver knocked her up.”  
  
Connor repeated the words, “knocked up,” obviously asking what the new phrase meant, but it was Oliver's choked inhalation that made Felicity shift her gaze from Roy to her boyfriend. But Oliver wasn't looking at her. Rather, he was staring at Connor like he had never seen him before... but also like he knew him better than anyone else in the whole world. Felicity didn't have a chance to process the reaction before Roy was already steamrolling ahead, pressing forth with his reasoning and his conclusion.  
  
“Those three things combined with the idea that, after his mom saw you on TV with Oliver – happy, successful, well-adjusted, and everyone knew even back then that you weren't just another fling, she gave her kid to you? He's his son. Connor is Oliver's biological son.”  
  
Sounding completely astonished, Digg whispered, “you're either a genius or the dumbest son of a bitch I've ever met.”   
  
When no one reprimanded John, Roy complained, “hey! Why does he get to swear?”  
  
But his whining was ignored. Pushing up from her chair, Felicity crossed the office, rounded the table where Oliver and Connor were sitting, and kneeled down between them. Connor's little brow was all scrunched up in confusion but yet hope as well, and Oliver was just shell-shocked – face slack with wonder and incredulity. He was completely dumbfounded. Unsure of how to help either of them, at a loss for what to say or what to do next, Felicity just sat there, looking between the two people who meant the most to her, the two people who meant more to her than anything and everyone else.   
  
As it had been for the entire evening, it was Roy who once more shattered the quiet. “At least with this one, we won't have to wonder about who its biological parents are.”  
  
Felicity felt the color drain from her face. Her hands started to tingle, and she had to reach both hands out, steadying herself by holding onto Oliver's right thigh. But it was Diggle who responded, Diggle who spoke. “What did you do,” he chastised Roy, standing up and leaning over his workspace in an intimidating, threatening manner. “I swear, if you got some girl pregnant....” The threat was left hanging, but it's implications were clear.   
  
“What,” Roy shouted, holding his hands up and backing away from even the thought of being a father. “Me? No!” He was talking fast, and the panic was ever-so-clear in his voice. “I just told you that I'm never having a kid. Ever.” Then, vaguely and with a scowl burying his features, he gestured towards Oliver and Felicity. “He's the one who's having a kid. With her.” Diggle stood up straight, his head rocketing towards her and Oliver. “Felicity's pregnant.”  
  
Underneath her hand, she felt Oliver stiffen before he shifted slightly, turning to face her. Felicity couldn't address him yet, however. First, she needed to know, “how the hell do you...?”  
  
But Roy interrupted her – all of his earlier uncertainty and apprehension replaced with a smug bravado that she just wanted to punch off his face. “Please, I'm your driver. I spend more time with you than I do anyone else, so I memorized your... cycle – that's what it's called, right?... a long time ago. Trust me, you're either pregnant or going through menopause, and I think we both know which one of those two options is more likely, especially since you're dating Big Papa over there.”  
  
“Call me that again,” Oliver rasped out, “and I'll make sure you're incapable of having those kids you don't want.”  
  
Felicity still couldn't react. She had suspected. Okay, so she had pretty much known. She wasn't an idiot, and she knew her body, but she was surprised. _This_ was not planned. At all. In fact, three months earlier, the idea of a kid with Oliver had been a distant possibility neither of them were even thinking about until Connor asked if they were having babies because Roy told him....  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted when her son asked, “pregnant,” his tone far more knowing than she was pleased to hear. It was like he already knew the answer to the question but was just posing it for clarity.  
  
Before she could respond, before Oliver could talk to him... like a father should in such a situation, and even before Digg, ever the amazing uncle, could step in, Roy was flapping his extremely loose jaws one more time. “Like I told you, OJ, your parents made it rain. It's raining babies, my man.”  
  
That's it. She was going to eviscerate him. As Felicity launched herself towards Roy – practically diving over the table, a strong set of arms banded themselves around her waist, holding her back. Oliver. And then he was whispering in her ear, “I've got this,” before taking off himself, Roy immediately sprinting for his life.  
  
Collapsing into the chair Oliver had just vacated, Felicity looked down at her still flat stomach and warned, “so help me, if you're not a girl....”  
  
And then she couldn't help it; she smiled. 


End file.
